


The Heart Grows Fonder With Time

by ToxicButterfly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, Fluff, M/M, Multi, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicButterfly/pseuds/ToxicButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock grows up with John looking after him. A relationship blooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock grows up with John looking after him. Ten year age gap. Sherlock is older when they get together. Primarily Johnlock, maybe a little Mystrade later on. AU obviously. WIP. Rating may change.

          Sixteen year old John Watson was sitting on a bench in the park snogging his girlfriend Carrie. They had intended to meet in the park and then go to the cinema, but Carrie had not let them get that far. John momentarily opened his eyes to see a small boy with striking blue eyes and a mop of black curls staring intently at the couple. He instantly lurched away from his girlfriend. She pouted before seeing the boy.  
           “Um, kid, can I help you?” John asked, with his arm still around Carrie’s waist.  
           “She has another boyfriend,” the boy said.  
           John snorted and Carrie’s eyes grew wide. “No she doesn’t.”  
           The boy nodded. “Yeah she does. I know it.”  
           Carrie became eerily silent. John said, “Whatever kid.”  
           “But she does,” the kid whined. “Wanna know how I know?”  
           John chuckled. “Sure kid. Humour me. Why is my girlfriend cheating on me?”  
           The little boy smiled and took a deep breath. “Her lip gloss is smeared all over mouth because she was kissing him before she came here. Your name is John and I know ‘cause I heard her say it. She has a ‘J’ necklace for your name but it’s backwards because she put it on quickly since she wasn’t wearing it before ‘cause she didn’t want somebody to see it.” He took another deep breath. “And she has a phone number in her purse with the name Sam on it. Could be a girl Sam but the writing is more like a boy.”  
           John stared at him impressed. “You’ve got a good imagination. Now can you please leave us alone?”  
           The little boy huffed angrily. “I didn’t make it up! I noticed!” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
           Carrie stared at the young boy angrily. “You little rat! How did you know all that?”  
           John became rigid. “Wait, what do you mean? Is he right?” Carrie stared at him dumbfounded. “Carrie, are you cheating on me?”  
           “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been seeing a few boys on the side,” she said and stood up. “I don’t know how this little freak knew, but yeah.” She took off the diamond ‘J’ and threw it in the dirt. “Freak,” she hissed at the boy before storming off.  
           John sat back and stared after her, dumbfounded. He looked at the little boy. “You were able to figure all that out? That’s,” John paused, “That’s actually really cool. Incredible.”  
           The boy looked at him with confusion. “You’re not mad? Usually when I tell people something like that they get angry. Although I can’t imagine why.”  
           John shrugged. “It wasn’t going to work out anyway. But hey, you know me, but what about you? What’s your name?”  
           “Sherlock Holmes,” he answered proudly. He crawled up on the bench and sat next to John.  
           “How could you figure that all out?” John asked. “You’re only, what, five?”  
           Sherlock sat up taller, although he already had incredible posture and was tall for his age. “I’m six. And I knew because I’m clever.”  
           John laughed. “You’re a bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”  
           Sherlock glared at him like he were stupid. “No. Because it’s true.”  
           John laughed again and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You seem very bright for your age. Much smarter than I was at six.”  
           Sherlock nodded “I believe it.”  
           John glanced at Sherlock’s clothes. He was nearly covered head to toe in mud. “Your mum is going to have a hard time getting all of that mud out of those clothes. Were you playing hard?”  
           Again, Sherlock stared at him. “Mummy doesn’t do laundry; the maid does. And I wasn’t playing. I was doing an experiment.”  
           “What kind of experiment?” John asked with interest.  
           Sherlock swung his legs back and forth as they were hanging over the edge of the bench. “I wanted to compare the soil make up that of the soil at my house.”  
           John smirked. “And what did you find?”  
           “It’s basically the same. It’s darker, which means it’s healthier. It’s a little more moist, but that may be because it rained recently.”  
           John looked down at Sherlock. “Can I ask you something?”  
           Sherlock looked up at him with his large blue eyes. “What?”  
           “Why aren’t you out playing with the other kids? They must be loads more interesting than me.”  
           Sherlock shook his head. “No, you’re much more interesting. And I don’t play. Especially not with them.” Sherlock sighed. “They’re all so boring.”  
           John looked confused. “But they look like they’re having fun.”  
           “They are,” Sherlock responded. “But they’re boring. Doing the same things over and over. They’re so stupid.”  
           “That isn’t nice,” John said.  
           Sherlock shrugged. “But it’s true. The only one out there almost as clever as me is my brother Mycroft.” He pointed to a boy that looked a few years older than Sherlock. He was wearing black pants and a blue button up dress shirt. He stood near the fence and looked wearily around him, actively trying not to touch anything. “Promise you won’t tell him I said that he’s clever.”  
           John smirked. “I promise. Why is he dressed like that? This is a park. Kids are supposed to get dirty.”  
           “Because we got a new nanny. The old one said she didn’t like looking after the two of us. But mainly me.”  
           “I’m sure that’s not true,” John said. “She probably got offered a better job.”  
           Sherlock shook his head. “No. After I accidentally caught her hair on fire, she said that she couldn’t look after two,” Sherlock paused and blushed. “Well, I can’t say what she called us, but then she quit. And the new nanny doesn’t know that Mycroft and I don’t like the park. She said we should go out and play with the other children.”  
           “Why did you catch your old nanny on fire?” John asked, suddenly wary of the child.  
           “It was an accident!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Honest! I needed the fire for an experiment, but she got too close. It got put out before she got hurt though.”  
           “You shouldn’t play with fire,” John scolded. “What if she had gotten hurt? What if you had caught your house on fire?”  
           “But nothing happened, so it doesn’t matter,” Sherlock argued. “And I wasn’t playing with it. I told you; it was for an experiment.”  
           John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, I’m serious. Please be more careful.”  
           Sherlock sighed. “Fine,” he said exasperatedly. “I’ll be more careful.”  
           “Thank you.”  
           Sherlock didn’t respond. They sat in silence until he said, “John, why are you talking to me?”  
           John looked around to see who may have been watching them, suddenly flooded with embarrassment from holding a conversation with a random six year old.  
           “I- I,” John floundered, “I don’t know. You started it.”  
           Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Please John, act like the adult here and stop using such a childish turn of phrase. I understand the implications behind,” made air quotes with his fingers, “Stranger danger. But what I mean is, nobody talks to me. And certainly not as an equal. Everybody always talks to me like I’m a little kid, or they make fun of me for being so smart. Then they call me mean names when I point things out like I did with that girl. So why are you talking to me?” Sherlock had a mixture of hurt and curiosity on his face, and yet also a glint of hope in his eyes.  
           John took pity on the boy. “Because you’re interesting. I don’t think you’re weird. You’re very smart, probably even smarter than me and I’m ten years older than you. I’m going to be honest Sherlock, for a second I forgot that you’re so young. We’ve been talking so casually and you’ve got a great vocabulary. I just really like talking to you.”  
           Sherlock beamed with pride. “Really John? You’re not just makin’ fun of me like the others?”  
           John smiled and shook his head. “Sherlock Holmes, I would never make fun of you.”  
           The boy in the dress clothes that Sherlock had identified as his brother walked over to the pair of them on the bench.  
           “Come Sherlock, nanny is taking us home,” Mycroft said with an air of sophistication.  
           “No!” Sherlock exclaimed, catching both John and Mycroft off guard. “I wanna stay and talk to John.”  
           Mycroft rubbed his temples. “Sherlock, stop being difficult. We have to leave. Besides, I’m sure John has no interest in talking to you.”  
           “Nuh-huh,” Sherlock argued. “John’s my friend.” He turned to look at John with his large blue eyes. “Right John?”  
           John was momentarily at a loss for words. “Um, yeah. You’re my little friend Sherlock.”  
           “See?” Sherlock said matter-of-factly to Mycroft. “He is too my friend.”  
           Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Whatever Sherlock. Regardless, it’s time to leave.”  
           Sherlock frowned but looked up at John. “Bye John. It was really nice talking to you.”  
           “You too Sherlock.”  
           “I hope we can see each other again soon,” Sherlock said. Mycroft grabbed his hand and started leading him away.  
           “I do too,” John said quietly, sincerely, as he watched Sherlock leave the park.


	2. Chapter 2

               John was walking his Great Dane and enjoying the scenery of his new neighbourhood. He’d driven down this street countless times, but he’d never given it a second thought until his family had decided to move to a smaller house a few streets over. He’d decided to take a look at the rich part of the neighbourhood.  
               Suddenly, his dog took off running down the road, pulling the leash from his hands. He ran after him but stopped when he ran through the yard of a large white house and jumped the fence into the back yard. The house was large uninviting, and it made John hesitant to approach it. It almost felt like no one lived inside.   
               John slowly walked up the steps to the front porch. He rang the doorbell and waited awkwardly for someone to open the door. When someone did, he was shocked to see the well-dressed boy from the park.  
               “John,” the boy said, with evident surprise. “What are you doing here?”  
               “M-My-,” John floundered. “I’m sorry, what was your name. Something with an ‘M’.”  
               The boy looked up at him. “Mycroft. Now, how may I help you?”  
               “My dog, he sort of got away from me and hopped your fence. Strolling about in your back yard I reckon.” As if to provide an alibi, the dog began barking loudly.  
               Mycroft opened the door widely and let John in. “Don’t let it get its hair all over the place; mummy’s allergic.” As Mycroft was leading John through the house, he said, “I haven’t seen you around.”  
               John admired the vast house with awe. “I just moved a few streets over.”  
               “John!”  
               John turned around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. He ran up to John and hugged his legs.  
               “Hey there Sherlock,” John said and ruffled his hair. “How’re you doing?”  
               “What do you think of my house?” Sherlock asked, completely ignoring the question asked to him.  
               John smiled fondly. “You could fit at least three of mine in here. Then probably my bedroom and the loo.”  
               “Sherlock, let John go,” Mycroft drawled. “His dog has somehow made his way into our back yard and he has come to retrieve it.”  
               Sherlock seemed to get excited. “How’d he get there? Can I pet him?”  
               John replied, “I live a few streets over. I was walking him and he ran off. And sure you can.”  
               Mycroft opened the back door and the dog came bounding towards John. He jumped on John and nearly knocked him over.  
               “Hey Rufus,” John laughed and rubbed the dog’s back. “I missed you too buddy.”  
               “Woah,” Sherlock said in awe. “He’s bigger than me.”  
               John smiled. “And he’s not even fully grown yet. His name is Rufus.”  
               Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well obviously,” he said. “That’s what you called him when he nearly plowed you over.” Rufus licked his face and he giggled. “I like him.”  
               “You really should get him out of here,” Mycroft warned. “If he gets any fur or dander anywhere, mummy will have a sneezing fit.”  
               “Mummy isn’t even around,” Sherlock argued. “And neither is daddy. They don’t have to know.”  
               “You know as well as I do that that’s not how allergies work.”  
               “Wait a minute,” John interrupted. “Are neither of your parents home?”  
               “Of course not,” Mycroft said. “That’s why we have a nanny. Obviously.”  
               “So where is she?”  
               Sherlock shrugged. “She quit. And I didn’t set her on fire this time.”  
               John looked at the two of them in disbelief. “So you two are here by yourselves?” Mycroft nodded. “Do your parents know?”  
               “No. She left about an hour ago,” Mycroft explained.  
               “May I ask why she quit? Didn’t you just get a new nanny?”  
               Mycroft frowned. “Perhaps you’d like to ask my little brother.”  
               “It wasn’t my fault,” Sherlock whined.  
               “Was too.” Mycroft shot back. “It’s always your fault. If you’d just shut up once in a while, we’d be able to keep a steady nanny.”  
               “Well you’re no fun to be around either. You tried to black mail the one before last. Threatened to show that video of her to mummy and daddy if she didn’t let you do what you wanted.”  
               “That’s enough!” John yelled and both boys stopped yelling and looked at him. “It doesn’t matter why she left. The only thing that matters is that you two shouldn’t be left alone at this age. Now I might go to jail for this, but I’m going to stay here and watch you boys to make sure you stay out of trouble. But I will not tolerate all of his bickering. Do you understand me?”  
               They looked up at John and nodded. He checked his watch. “Now, it’s past noon. Have either of you eaten lunch yet?” Mycroft shook his head. “Alright then. Come on, where’s the kitchen?”  
               Sherlock led them into the large kitchen and sat down at one of the chairs.  
               “Is there anything particular the two of you want?”  
               “PB and J!” Sherlock exclaimed.  
               “Turkey sandwich on wheat,” Mycroft responded.  
               “Sounds good. Mycroft, if you’ll have a seat, I’ll get started.”  
               John washed his hands and took the wheat out of the bread box. “Sherlock, do you want wheat too?”  
               Sherlock shook his head. “No. Wheat’s gross.”  
               John smiled. “I agree.” He took the white bread out as well. He made the sandwiches and put them on the plates in front of the appropriate child. “Do you want anything to drink?”  
              “Orange juice please John,” Mycroft replied.  
              “Same for me.”  
               John poured two glasses. “Now, before either of you eat, I want you to go wash up, okay?”  
              “But I’m not dirty,” Sherlock argued.  
              “It doesn’t matter,” John said. “Go wash up.”  
              The children trudged upstairs and when they returned, John was eating a sandwich as well.  
              “Hey John! After lunch, will you play pirate with me?” Sherlock asked.  
               Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, John’s a big kid. I’m sure he has no interest in playing your childish games with you.”  
               Sherlock frowned.  
               “Actually,” John said, “That sounds fun. I love pirates.”  
               Sherlock’s face lit up. “Really?”  
               John nodded. “Of course. Who doesn’t love prates?”  
               “Mycroft,” Sherlock answered. He looked at his older brother and sneered. “See? He does wanna play with me.”  
               Mycroft rolled his eyes again, a habit that John was quickly learning to be a trait shared by the Holmes boys.  
               When all three were finished eating, Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and led him up to his bedroom.  
               Three of Sherlock’s walls were covered in pictures of famous scientists. He even had a framed copy of the periodic table hanging above his bed. He had a microscope sitting on his floor. His pillowcase was black with a Jolly Roger on it and his blanket depicted a pirate ship. One wall was painted in chalkboard paint and had middle school age math equations written on it.  
               “Your room’s really cool,” John said sincerely. “I wish I had a blackboard wall.”  
               “Yeah. I’m teaching myself algebra.”  
               John looked up and saw that several glow in the dark stars and planets were stuck to the ceiling. “Do you like space?”  
               Sherlock looked up at the stars and sneered. He shook his head and said, “No. Mummy put them up there, because she said all boys my age like space. I think it’s boring. I don’t need to know about it, so I ever bothered putting in the effort of learning it.”  
               “Fair enough. But do you at least know the planets?”  
               “No. I don’t need to,” Sherlock repeated.  
               “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto. And they all revolve around the Sun.”  
               “That’s boring.” Sherlock dug around in his toy bin and pulled out two swords, an eye patch, and a clothes hanger. He gave a sword and the clothes hanger to john.      “Here, you be the bad guy.”  
                “What’s the hanger for?”  
               Sherlock put on the eye patch. “For your hook. Obviously. Didn’t you ever play pirate?”  
               “I never had anyone to play with,” John admitted. “My sister was always busy with her friends.”  
               “Well you can play with me.” Sherlock ran out of the room and came back with a box. He put some plastic gold coins inside of it and used a red crayon to scribble on a piece of coloring paper. He ran off again and returned empty handed.  
               “You gotta try to find the buried treasure,” Sherlock explained. “Use the map. Then we’ll fight over it.” He gave the map to John and ran off.  
               John looked at the scribbles and chuckled. He walked around the house, eventually finding the box poorly hidden under several pillows piled at the end of the sofa.  
               "I found the buried treasure!" John exclaimed and picked up the box."  
               "Put that down, scallywag," Sherlock yelled and ran into the room. "That's my treasure."  
               "Arg, finders keepers," John announced.  
               Sherlock pointed his sword at John. "That's mine."  
               John put the treasure down and drew his sword. "You'll have to kill me for it, little boy."  
               Sherlock lunged and John deflected the attack with his sword. The two fought eventually traveling into the kitchen. John got down on the ground and Sherlock pointed the tip of his sword at John's throat. "Now walk the plank."  
               John slowly got up and Sherlock guided him back to the sofa. John took his of his shoes and climbed onto the cushions. Sherlock followed and pressed the tip of the sword into his back. "You have three seconds."  
               "You might've won this round Cap'n Holmes, but I'll be back."  
               "One."  
               "I'll ride a dolphin to shore, where my crew'll be waiting for me."  
               "Two."  
               "This ain't the last you've seen of me, Sherlock Holmes."  
               "Three!" Sherlock exclaimed and a moment before he jabbed John in the back, John stepped off of the sofa and sank to his knees, and laid down on the floor.  
               Sherlock chuckled. "That was fun."  
               John smiled and nodded his head. He handed his sword and hanger to Sherlock. "It sure was. I haven't had a work out like that in years. And I play rugby."  
               John then heard the door open and a woman call in, "Mycroft, Sherlock, we're home!" John stood up and walked to the door. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Who are you?"  
               Sherlock ran up beside John and hugged his legs. "Mummy, daddy, this is my friend John."  
               "Ma'am, let me explain. My name is John Watson. I met the boys and their nanny in the park a few days back. I was walking my dog and he ran off, hopped the fence into your yard. I came to get her back, and it turns out that your nanny quit and left Mycroft and Sherlock here all alone. I was just looking out for them to make sure that nothing happened to them."  
              "Get out of my house," Mr. Holmes exclaimed.  
               Mycroft pushed past John. "He's telling the truth. The nanny left and he just happened to come by."  
               "He's my friend," Sherlock explained. "We played pirate."  
               "I understand your concern Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, but I assure you, I had the boys' best interests at heart. I'll get out of your hair now."  
               "No! John, don't go," Sherlock whined and gripped John tighter. "You can't leave!"  
               John bent down and looked Sherlock in his eyes. "I know buddy. But I have to."  
               "But you can't! You're my friend. Even Mycroft likes you!"  
               "Bye Sherlock," John said and stood up. "Bye Mycroft."  
               "Wait a minute," Mr. Holmes said. "John, was it? It's extremely rare that we can find either a baby sitter or a nanny that either of them like, let alone both of them. If my wife will allow it, I'd like to ask you to watch the boys again, if that's okay with you. Lidia?"  
               "I'd certainly want to know more about you before I leave you alone with my sons again, but I think it would be alright."  
               "Oh, well, um, sure. I guess I can watch them again."  
               Sherlock smiled and hugged John even tighter than before. "Yay! John, we're gonna have so much fun!"  
                                                                                                                    ***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to get a little more information on John's home life, as that will obviously come into play later. I don't believe I said it in the chapter, but John and Harry's mum is named Helen. Also, as usual it's not Brit picked, but I hop I did well enough with the slang and such at the beginning.

          "So wait, you're a nanny now?"

          John was sitting on the rugby pitch with his best friend and teammate Greg Lestrade. Greg was eating a sandwich before practice. He finished his food and laid back on the grass, using his bag as a pillow.

          "I guess so." John shrugged and peeled his banana.

          "And say again how you got roped into taking care of someone else's kids."

          "I told you. I couldn't just leave them alone. Sherlock's six and I think Mycroft is nine. Hardly old enough to be left home alone. He shrugged. "Oh well, I don't mind. I'm good with kids. I take care of the cousins all the time. Besides, they'll pay well. Seriously, they live in a bloody mansion."

          "And what does Carrie think about all of this?" Greg asked.

           John looked at his friend with confusion. "Didn't I tell you? We broke up. She cheated on me."

           Greg sat up quickly. "Really?" He patted John on the back. "I'm really sorry to hear that mate. What happened?"

          John chuckled. "Aresed if I'm lying, but Sherlock figured it out."

          It was Greg's turn to become confused. "What do you mean? How?"

          John shook his head. "I don't know; he just figured it out. The kid's brilliant. Sherlock said that he was teaching himself Algebra. He may have just ben saying that, but all of the equations looked right."

          "Damn." He hit John on his arm and stood up and began stretching. "Well, best get ready. The rest of the team'll be showing up soon." John stood up and started stretching as well. "So, who names their kids Sherlock an Mycroft anyway?"

          "Apparently Lidia and Xavier Holmes," John said sarcastically.

          "Yeah, no kidding." Greg sat down on the grass and started putting on his cleats. "By the way, did you see the new psych teacher?"

          John smiled in appreciation. "Miss Flarahety. I'd do her."

          Greg rolled his eyes. "You'd do anything with a pulse."

          John shrugged. "What can I say? I love a good arse."

          Greg laughed. "Not that you'd actually know. Mate, you're the biggest virgin I've ever met."

          "Sod off," John said. "Not as much as you. At least I've kissed some blokes."

          "And I'm okay with not kissing blokes," Greg said.

          "You know what I meant," John said. He looked up and saw a few of his teammates jogging down the hill towars the pitch. "Mike, Aaron, Dennis. Do you know where the rest of them are?"

          Dennis, a tall boy with blonde hair, shook his head. "No. I think I saw Pete, and I know Ernie was in botany. But I don't know about the rest of 'em."

          John looked around for the rest of his teammates. He looked at his watch and said, "Practice starts in two minutes. If they're not here by then they're running laps. You three, start getting your gear on."

                                                                                                                         ***

          "So John, how was practice?" his mother asked at dinner.

          John cut into his steak and answered, "Good. The team's doing really well. I think we might be starting to have a commitment problem with some of them. A lot came late, and three didn't even show up, even though they were in school."

          "And what about you Harriet?" she asked his sister.

          "I told you, call me Harry," she groaned. She massaged her temples and closed her eyes. "And not well. I feel terrible."

          John mumbled, "I wonder why," and Harry shot him a dark look that made John fall silent.

          Mrs. Watson's eyes filled with concern. "What's wrong sweetie?"

          Harry shook her head slowly. "I'm fine, just a headace. But on the bright side, I met a girl today that's really cute. Her name's Clara."

          Mrs. Watson's face lit up wth interest. "Am I going to have to meet this girl?"

          Harry shrugged. "Hopefully. Can I be excused? I want to go take a nap."

          Their mother nodded. "Sure sweetie, go up to bed. Take some Asprin."

          Harry pushed her chair out and slowly trudged into the livingroom and up the stairs to her attic bedroom.

          "And what about you John?" she asked. "How're you doing about Carrie?"

          John shrugged. "I'm alright. Getting better."

          His mother smiled. "That's what I like to hear. Is there anybody else that you have in mind?"

          John shook his head. "Nope. Just the usual hot teachers."

          "And her or his name is..." she asked.

          "Miss Flarahety," he answered. "She teaches psychology."

          "Is she," she started to ask, but stopped herself. "No, I don't want to pry."

          John scoffed. "Why now? You're a mom, isn't that your job?"

          She pointed ann accusatory finger at him. "Don't make me ground you mister."

          John began to speak, but his phone started to ring. He checked and saw that it was Mr. Holmes. "Mr. Holmes. I'll be right back." He walked into the livingroom and came back a few minutes later. He held a hand over the reciever of his mobile and said, he wants to know if I can watch them tomorrow from seven to nine." She nodded and he went back to the other room.

          John returned and took a few more bites of his dinner. "I'm going to go check on Harry," he announced and walked up to the attic. He knocked on her door and she began to yell.

          "Will you stop that?" she exclaimed. "Didn't I tell you people that I want to sleep to get rid of this damn headache?"

          John sighed and lowered his voice. "Harry, it's me. Can I come in?"

          Harry sighed and John could nearly visualize her rolling her eyes. "Sure, whatever. Come on in little brother."

          John stepped into her room and even in the dim lighting, he could clearly see her dark curls fanned out around her head, with her face pressed into her pillow.

          "What do you want John?" she moaned, her voice muffled.

          John looked around for his target. "I just wanted to see how you were feeling."

          "Like hell," she responded.

          John gave up his search and sat down on the bed. "Alright, I'll just ask you then. Where is it?"

          "Where's what?"

          John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know what I mean. Where's the bottle? The whiskey?"

          Harry sat bolt upright with fear in her eyes. "I don't know what you're- How did you know about that?"

          "Harry, I'm not an idiot, and neither is mum. She however, chooses to live in denial. Now, I've let this go on long enough, but I'm intervening. You came to dinner with a bloody hangover or God's sake. Now tell me where it is."

          "I don't have a problem," Harry denied. "Besides, I'm eighteen and your big sister. You can't tell me what to do."

          "Exactly!" John said, exasperated. "You're underage. And it's because I love you that I want you to stop."

          "I don't have a problem," she repeated. "I can stop whenever I want."

          "Yes you do, and no you can't. Harry please, just give me the bottle."

          Her gaze momentarily shifted to the floor beside her bed on the side next to the wall. Though only for a moment, John saw this and dove over the bed and snatched the bottle. Harry grabbed it and they began trying to pull it out of each other's grip.

          "Give it back John!"

          "Stop being childish Harry," he commanded through grit teeth.

          "I'm not being childish!"

          "Yes you are Harry! You can't self medicate like this!" John exclaimed and instantly realized that he'd made a mistake.

          Her brown eyes became hard and cold. "What did you just say?"

          John hesitated, but swallowed his fear and pride and said what he felt needed to be said. He got off of the bed and took a few steps back. "You heard me Harriet. You can't self medicate like this. I'm the man of the house now, so it's my job to look after you and mum. Dad wouldn't have wanted you to do this to youself."

          "Don't talk about him like he's dead!" Harry yelled. "And he wouldn't care. He didn't give a rat's arse about us, or mum. That's why he left."

          "You know that's a lie!" John yelled. "He might've been a dick, but he's still our father and he loves us!"

          "Well apparently not as much as his new girlfriend!"

          "That's not the point Harry. The point is, he's been gone for two months, and you're already an alcoholic because of him."

          "Exactly John! Two months!" she screamed. "It's only been two months! How can you and mum just act like he never existed?"

          "It's better than trying to kill myself with alcohol!" John roared.

          Harry stared at him again. "Get out!" she screamed and threw the bottle at him. It shattered on the wall next to his head and he retreatd out of the room and downstairs into his own.

                                                                                                                                 ***


End file.
